My Turning Point

In my last health post, Coming Clean, I mentioned that I have relapsed so many times.  Two years ago, my friend Natalie and I were working very hard to lose weight and to get into shape.  I lost nearly 30 pounds in a matter of a few months.  That summer, I hadn't worked out a solution of how I was going to handle having my son home all summer and exercise, and so I didn't.  That fall I ran my first 5K with my brother and sister-in-law.  It was a very emotional experience, and one that I will always treasure.  They ran for me and with me that race.  It was my "Biggest Loser" moment.

The moment didn't last.  I fell back into my habits, and within a year and a half, I gained all of my weight back plus some.  I yo-yo-ed up and down: counting my calories, running sometimes, and then relapsing back into old habits of eating and eating.  I used becoming Parent Council president (aka PTO President) and having a newborn unexpectedly as excuses to why I was gaining weight. I was so focused on controlling those new aspects in my life that my health fell apart.

I was not happy with the way things were going, and I was starting to resign myself to the fact that I'll probably be big my whole life.  I'll probably yo-yo my whole life.  But did I want that?  NO! I have seen the long-term health effects in my family, and I don't want that.  I want to be healthy and strong.  I don't want 50 to feel like 70.  I don't want 40 to feel like 50.  I knew I had to change, and this fall, I began praying fervently again for that courage and self-control. 

In the fall, I began reading the Miracle of Forgiveness by Spencer W. Kimball.  (You really have to start that book, put it down, and then start again because it is intense.)  In one of the chapters,  President Kimball talks about quitting bad habits and overcoming serious sins (i.e., sexual transgression, pornography, etc.), and since I have never struggled with those issues, I applied it to my own life.  A  couple of passages struck me with such force that I knew I had to finally change for good -- make it stick, and never look back.

The first passage is the one I quoted in my first post:
 

“The first and greatest victory is to conquer yourself; to be conquered by yourself is of all things most shameful and vile.”  ~Plato

I was letting my body conquer my spirit.  I was tired of giving in to my cravings and caving by binging on sweets and putting awful things into my body.

The second passage taught me that if I want to live with my Father in Heaven again, then I need to find a way to conquer myself.  If I don't, I'm not worthy to be with him again.

"It is imperative that when one has once put his feet on the path to recovery and mastery there must be no turning back. 'No man,' said the Savior, 'having put his hand to the plough, and looking back, is fit for the kingdom of God.'" 

I couldn't use weakness as an excuse anymore. There is no more turning back.  Each time I do, it gets harder.  It was time I made a conscious decision and stuck with it.

The entire point of coming to earth is learning to mesh our spirits with our body.  By combining our spiritual strengths and our physical senses to become perfect beings just as God is.  We can not be whole just as spiritual or temporal beings; two must become one.

I began researching and digging more into blogs and websites with healthy foods and habits.  I needed to find a way to overcome my addiction.  I decided that I needed to read and study the 12-Step Addiction Recovery Program published by the LDS Church (which is adapted from the AA program, by the way).  The first step is "Honesty," and I was just beginning embrace where I was in my life and that I needed to change.

I found a support group and a challenge through The Gracious Pantry.  The author, Tiffany, hosts a No-Sugar Challenge, and I read and studied it.  It was exactly what I needed.  I joined her group on Facebook, and I have now been sugar-free for 30 days!!!  Technically, the challenge is over, but I must keep on my journey, and I will explain more in another post.

For now, you need to know that my life has changed, and I hope to keep on this turning point and never turn back.  I have lost 11 pounds this month mainly from watching what I'm eating.  My family in general is eating better.  And if you wonder, no, I did not eat, lick, or even sample Jackson's birthday cake; and even better, he knew I wouldn't, and he has been one of my biggest supporters through it all.

Today I celebrated and got my hair done since I don't eat cakes, donuts, or candy, I couldn't use food as an incentive.  Instead, I did something for myself.  I love the new style, and I'm happy.  Here's the 11-pound lighter me:

Next up:  True Change and Opposition

Coming Clean

“The first and greatest victory is to conquer yourself; to be conquered by yourself is of all things most shameful and vile.”  ~Plato

I have started writing this post several times over the last month, erased my thoughts, and started over again.  When we write about something so very personal, it can be really hard to expose ourselves. This is a serious issue for me, and one that will have life long effects, and one I hope to change.

The past few months I've been reading some books that have made me take a good, hard look into my life and into who I am and what makes me tick.  I realized that I have a big problem with self-control.  I also realized that this is a personality trait that I inherited.  It's obvious it runs in my family, but it affects my siblings and me in different ways.  For me, I tend to yell a lot at my kids and overreact.  It seems I have a short temper. You'd think I'm hormonal or something. . .oh, wait. . .

I'm not sure when I realized it because the recognition has been blooming for quite some time, but this year I finally accepted that I have a sugar addiction.  When I thought about my self-control issues, the sugar addiction no longer seemed unexplained.  Before you dismiss that this is just a silly addiction or laugh about it, let's talk about what an addiction is. 

ad·dic·tion

noun \ə-ˈdik-shən\   (Medical Dictionary)

Medical Definition of ADDICTION

: compulsive physiological need for and use of a habit-forming substance (as heroin, nicotine, or alcohol) characterized by tolerance and by well-defined physiological symptoms upon withdrawal; broadly : persistent compulsive use of a substance known by the user to be physically, psychologically, or socially harmful—compare habituation  

(source: http://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/addiction)

What words stand out to you?  Compulsive? Physiological need? Persistent use?

Let's be honest.  When we think of addictions, we can usually point out the obvious ones that plague our society:  drugs, alcohol, pornography, hoarding (don't think it's real -- just watch one episode of "Hoarders" -- it's real all right!), shopping, over-eating, anorexia, video games, and many others.  I would say I was addicted to over-eating, but I knew it was more than that.

Lest you tell me something dismissive like, "Oh, I can't say 'no' to sugar either," or "You should just limit yourself to one treat a week," or "Sugar isn't all bad, you're just following a fad," let me share some addictive behaviors with you and what mine have been.  Most of these come from a couple of websites including this one: http://www.indiana.edu/~engs/hints/addictiveb.html  and this one: http://www.erikbohlin.net/Handouts/personality_traits_of_addiction.htm

• They will seek it out, or engage in the behavior even though it is causing harm.  I have been substantially overweight for over 10 years.  I remember when the doctor told me that I was "obese" over 8 years ago.  You tell me that isn't hard hard to hear.  I knew that what I was eating wasn't good, but when I was stressed out, I bought cookies, snack cakes, or candy bars to relieve it.
• The person will compulsively engage in the activity, that is, do the activity over and over even if he/she does not want to and find it difficult to stop.  I would find myself eating the leftovers from my kids or grabbing handfuls of cookies, candy, or chocolate chips just because it was a habit.  I'd find myself in the pantry or fridge and wonder what I was doing.
• The person does not appear to have control as to when, how long, or how much he or she will continue the behavior (loss of control). (They drink 6 beers when they only wanted one, buy 8 pairs of shoes when they only needed a belt, ate the whole box of cookies, etc).  Uh, easy:  That box of Little Debbie Snack cakes was usually gone before I got home from the grocery store.  Cookies never lasted more than a day or two; candy bars didn't stand a chance.
  
• He/she often denies problems resulting from his/her engagement in the behavior, even though others can see the negative effects. Minimizing—is the coping mechanism of acknowledging something, but making it “not that big of a thing.”  They often feel that people are making “a mountain out of a mole hill.”  I would tell my friends and family that I could stop at any moment.  I just needed to exercise more.  I really didn't eat that much or that badly.
• Person hides the behavior after family or close friends have mentioned their concern. (hides food under beds, alcohol bottles in closets, doesn't show spouse credit card bills, etc).  That box of Little Debbie snack cakes was usually thrown away in the outside trash where my husband couldn't find it or buried in the bottom of the kitchen trash can.  The box of Girl Scout cookies that I saved for myself was hidden in my dress drawer.  I knew how to eat right in front of others by ordering salads or low fat meals to make it look like I was getting a handle on my diet.
• Individuals with addictive behaviors often have low self esteem, feel anxious if they do not have control over their environment, and come from psychologically or physically abusive families. This one is a little more difficult to talk about.  I don't think I've completely loved all of myself ever since I was. . . well, ever.  My greatest weakness is comparing myself to others.  When I was a little girl, I wanted to be my friends because then maybe my brothers wouldn't pick on me.  When I was older, I wanted to be the girl across town because she won all of the contests and all of the boys liked her.  When I was in college, I decided that I couldn't compete with BYU students, and so I just did minimal activities in college.  As an adult, well, we all know that this could go a million angles.  Basically, though, the absolute hardest part is the control:  I have struggled knowing how to be a parent of a child with high-functioning autism and being the perfect adoptive parent.  Most of you have heard my struggles with homework or other scenarios with Jackson.  When I would lose control, I immediately would yell and then grab something high in calories to eat and take away the stress.  As for the abuse part, well, I can't say that I came from an abusive home, so please don't think that I mean that in any way.
• Self Medication—The person uses the substance to fix situations and feel better.  Mistakenly, they believe that they are only using it for social reasons or pain management, but in fact it is “helping” them cope with life.  I remember a month or so ago when I actually felt the trigger.  I could feel it go off, telling me that the only way to fix the issue at hand was food.  I couldn't believe it.  I knew then that it was more than just habit or eating for "fun."
  
• Quick Fix Mentality—Addicts are used to “fixing” their uncomfortable feelings with their addiction. As a result, they expect change to happen fast and have difficulty waiting for things or progress over time. That is one of the reasons relapse is so common is that they are unable to withstand the painful/ uncomfortable feelings that occur with withdrawal.   I can not tell you how many times I have "relapsed."  This is why I'm grateful for the "No-Sugar Challenge" I found online to help break my addiction.  I will talk more about this in a later blog post.
• Upon cessation of the activity, withdrawal symptoms often occur.  These can include irritability, craving, restlessness or depression. Yet another blog post to come.  Yes, I have had withdrawals and cravings more than I realized I would.
• Anger—If there is a feeling that is expressed, it is usually anger.  Not having their substance makes them irritable and angry.  This definitely was one of my first withdrawal symptoms.
  

 I'm not writing all of this to fish for compliments or for you to tell me that I'm not really all that bad.  I don't believe I am a horrible person, but I do believe that I have a serious addiction that I am determined to change.  Please don't dismiss this by trying to "disprove" one of the things I've written (i.e., "You're really not fat, LeMira" or "We've all done that.").  One of the first steps to recovery is honesty, and I'm laying it out in the open.  This is one of the hardest things for me to do.  

I will write more about this experience as time goes on, but I knew I needed to get the first post out there, which has been the hardest to write.  

Up next:  My Turning Point: what made me realize that I had to change for good.

Nearer, My God, to Thee

Today I'm hugging my boys a little bit tighter and cherishing them a bit more.

 
Today I'm praying for the grieving families in Connecticut. 

Today I'm thankful for my Savior Jesus Christ.
"But little children are alive in Christ, even from the foundation of the world" Moroni 8:12

Flames

Have you ever stood there, looking forward at a ring of fire knowing you have to literally blaze through it?  You're terrified of what lies before you, but you can't turn back because the alternative is just as terrifying.  The only thing keeping you going is knowing that what you're about to do is right.  You have no clue what will happen once you step through the fire, you're only praying that you don't melt or explode in the sudden, extreme heat.  You don't know how long the "ring of fire" is, but you must press on.

Welcome to our lives at this very moment.

My Apologies

Dear Congregation (in my church building today),

I'm sorry to say that the song you heard today in Sacrament Meeting was in fact, NOT the one I had been practicing for eight months.  Indeed, it wasn't even the same as the one I practiced that very morning.  Something happened between the time I stood up to walk to the piano and when I sat down at the instrument -- all 25 steps.

Apparently, my super hero senses kicked in the moment I sat on the bench and suddenly I could hear every movement, every crumpling paper, and every child's whisper despite the mental brick wall I built between the 150 people and me.  At the same time that my super keen hearing power kicked in, an earthquake began.  Well, it must have been an earthquake because for some reason, my entire being was shaking, and no amount of self-talk or deep breathing could make it stop.  The shaking started in my feet and ran through to the top of my head. 

Somehow the keys got switched during all that shaking because the notes I played weren't the ones written.  The earthquake significantly slowed my playing as I was having a difficult time controlling where to put my fingers.  Also, I think I must have been abducted by aliens for a brief minute because at one point, I had no idea what I had played or what I was to play next.  The very awkward moments that followed while I guessed where to strike the next keys were excruciatingly embarrassing.  I finished the song, thank heavens, with the correct notes.

I couldn't bear to look up at anyone as I returned to my seat.  Somehow, the shaking had ceased.  The piano-centered earthquake only lasted the duration of my musical number.  Even thought the shaking had ceased, the waterfall began.  I desperately began searching for tissues as I tried to contain the leaking from my eyes.  The anger and shame seared my face, and I wanted to run.  Only the thought of drawing more attention to myself kept me glued to my seat.

My husband let me silently cry and held my hand.  He said I sounded great, and that even though there were mistakes, I performed wonderfully.  My ever-supportive sister-in-law, who turned the pages for me, handed me the tissues and was completely empathetic (she plays the piano as well).  (Later on, after we returned home, my husband reminded me that it had been 11 years since I'd performed publicly, and that it would only improve if I kept practicing and performing for people.)  Immediately, the scripture passage from Ether 12:27 came to mind.  It states,

And if men come unto me I will show unto them their weakness. I give unto men weakness that they may be humble; and my grace is sufficient for all men that humble themselves before me; for if they humble themselves before me, and have faith in me, then will I make weak things become strong unto them.

Yep, my weakness was glaring me in the face.  No matter the time and effort I put into practicing a song, I can't perform in public.  I don't do it.  That is my weakness.  No matter how flawless I play at home, when I sit in front of a crowd of people, it sounds as if I haven't practiced in months.  That is my weakness.

Yet, the promise is strong.  The promise is that if I have faith, then the Lord will make this weakness become a strength.  If I practice and perform more, the Lord will make this easy for me.  I will get good at it.  Perhaps not in a year or in two years, but eventually. 

With the performance over, the emotions running dry, and the support of wonderful family members and some good friends who said kind words to me after the service, I'm ready to pick a new song.  I'm ready to play again.  As my childhood friend told me, "If the horse bucks you off, you get right back up and get on."  This morning, I felt bucked off, but I'm happy to say that I'm going to get back on.

To the friend who said, "Good job, LeMira, I didn't know you could play like that,"  I say, "thank you."  That is what I needed to hear; you gave me the courage to climb back up on that horse.  Thank you for telling me that you were impressed (because that's the attitude in which she said it). I'm not a flawless player, but I sure tried my best.  While I'm not happy with the outcome, I can say that I finally achieved something I hadn't been able to do in 11 years.  I performed a solo in public, and I hope I can again.

To my friends in the congregation, thank you for allowing me to be shown my weakness and for giving me the chance to learn how to make it a strength.

Most Sincerely,

LeMira

It's Quiet for a Reason

There's a reason I haven't posted for a week on this blog.  It's been quite an emotional few days, and one day perhaps I will share some more of what I've learned and experienced this week.  I guess I could say that the theme for my life right now is "There is a Reason for Everything."  In my life, I'm discovering some reasons and some whys to questions from five years ago, and it's really tough because it means that my past suffering is helping someone else who is suffering now.  My heart breaks for the dear ones who are facing emotional tsunamis and heart-wrenching pain.

For now, just know that we are still alive and kicking but leaning very close to our family right now.  Sometimes when things are so close to our hearts, it's too hard to share them for fear of making them less sacred to us.

Yoked, not Yolked

Sometimes I feel completely helpless.  I have friends to whom I just wish I could reach out and take their burdens the way they have taken mine.  I wish I knew what to say, how to ease their minds and give them that ONE magical answer.  More than anything it breaks to heart to watch my broken friends figure out how to mend and piece together what's left after their storm has raged.

I've definitely had my storms and my moments.  Somehow, I weathered them, but I know that I was never alone - even when I felt like I was completely on my own.  There was always someone thinking about me. 

Recently in church we talked about Christ's yoke and what it means to walk with him.  The scripture that I reference is  Matthew 11: 28-30:

Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.  Take my yoke upon you, and learn of me; for I am meek and lowly in heart: and ye shall find rest unto your souls.  For my yoke is easy, and my burden is light.

The interesting thing about this metaphor is that it doesn't mean that I should hand over my burdens to the Lord for Him to carry for me while I walk by His side empty-handed watching Him carry mine.  No, a yoke is something that two people must carry together, laden across our shoulders.  We pull each other, and my burdens are lighter because I take upon His yoke, not mine.  I choose to follow Him and do what it takes to follow Him.  I choose what He would have me do.   The rest is unto my soul, not my physical body.  I choose to wear His burdens on my back.

 I think we, in turn, can do this for our friends, and even for those who are not.   My parents have an actual antique oxen yoke hanging on their hallway wall.  It looks almost exactly like the one below:

That thing is NOT light.  It is very heavy, and personally, I wouldn't want to carry it on my own.  Thankfully, I haven't had to very often.  In fact, the times I have had to carry "it"(now referring to my burdens here) on my own are when I've chosen to do so.  There have been many times when someone else has stepped in and filled the empty hole next to me without asking.  I thank the Lord every day for you have done that for me.  Thank you for stepping in, even when I didn't want you there because I really did, I just didn't realize that I would.

Now, I hope that I can help you with your yoke in some small way.  I hope you can forgive my missteps when I try to help you carry yours.  Just know, I do it out of love because I love you very much, and I want to help you as you've helped me.  I hope you will find rest.

Oh, and of course my sweet, sweet friend posted the video below on my Facebook wall.  Little did she know I was writing this post tonight, and it fits PERFECTLY with my message.  I love her dearly.

What's the Word?

Two years ago, I knew this day would come; and the emotions that I have been dealing with for the past 24 hours are the reason why I waited for two years to do anything about it.  My heart sank, and I think I even cried two years ago when I realized what it could possibly be that I was feeling.  And then I told myself that it could be nothing, that I should just wait and see if anything changed.

Part of the reason I decided to wait is because my doctor was leaving on a sabbatical for a year, and I couldn't bear to go to another doctor and relate all of my medical history.  A year later when he returned, nothing had really changed, and I wanted to lose weight and get healthier before going to see him again.  I gave myself six months.  Well, six months turned into twelve, but I knew I needed the appointment, so I finally scheduled it the beginning of January.

When the day came for the appointment, for the first time in all my womanhood, I was not scared.  I was brave, confident.  I had gone over this conversation in my head for two years.  I confidently filled out all of the paperwork and breathed deeply when I got to my biggest concerns, but I only hesitated briefly.

Same doctor, new office = best doctor visit I ever had.  In the end, his nurse put in an order for the test that I knew I needed.  Due to scheduling, I knew my first available would be today, Valentine's Day.  Oh, goodie. . . just what all women want to do on the day of "love."

For two weeks, I've been brave, keeping  a straight face and keeping quiet.  I can count on one hand the number of people I told about this test.  I didn't want to alarm anyone unnecessarily, but I had to tell someone because my therapy is talking out my problems.  So, a few people were told.  I tried to be very nonchalant about it. . . until yesterday.

All day "I'm too young!  I'm too young, I'm only 30," kept playing in my head.  This shouldn't be happening to me at 30.  Prayers and a priesthood blessing calmed me.  I received an answer that I didn't want to question, but that I knew I wouldn't completely understand until after my appointment today.

I cried on the way to the hospital.  I had to let it out.  First of all, I hate that hospital.  The smells, the sounds, everything sends the emotions from Clarissa and Jackson swirling around me.  That hospital doesn't mean hope to me, it means gloom.  Secondly, I think of all the things that scare me in this world (snakes, heights, the dark), and the thing that scares me the absolute most is if the words are "Yes, that's what it is" today.  I don't want to hear the "c" word.  That word terrifies me.  The what-ifs are plaguing me.

I'm there early, and I get in early.  The nurse/technician gives me the robe to put on my upper half and tells me where to wait.  When there's a question of why when I'm only 30 am I here for a routine screening and "it's too high, this machine won't see anything," she leaves me alone in the room with the Machine.  I look at it, ominously humming at me, thinking how painful it can be and yet wondering how in the world it really works.  I think I remember seeing a video online about it somewhere.  Will this Machine give me the answers I'm looking for or will it be something else?  Secretly, I don't want to go anywhere near the machine.

My heart gives a small leap when she returns and tells me that they're going to do an ultrasound instead.  I want to turn around and stick my tongue out at the machine.   I return to the waiting room and sit a while longer for the ultrasound technician to "say" my name (it's more like "attempt to say my name" until I tell them how to pronounce it).

She takes me into a room, and I recognize this machine.  This one doesn't scare me, and I know I can have answers immediately.  I won't have to wait until my doctor calls me, or will I?  Nope, they bring in a radiologist so he can tell me before I leave.  I look on the screen, and I like to think I can understand what I'm seeing after several prenatal ultrasounds and seeing ultrasounds on Jackson.

The radiologist speaks, "It's not cancer.  There's nothing there and nothing to worry about."  Inwardly, I relax, but I listen intently as he explains further and tells me what to look for later on if I ever wonder again what it is I'm really feeling.  (Turns out it's just tissue that's developed differently on one side than the other.)

I wait to cry relief when I get to the car.  I text Matt and meet him outside of his building to give him the good news.  I think of all the tests I won't have to endure or the explanations I'd have to give Jackson or the bills I won't have to pay.  I thank the Lord the entire way home and shed some more tears, and I completely understand the meaning of, "The Lord has other things in store for you,"  and I'm thankful that "other things" don't include cancer.

The Path: What You Must Carry

After I wrote the first post, I've been thinking more and more about The Path.  So, you'll be getting a series of posts, I'm afraid.

I believe we start on our paths when we are born.  The ideal is that we are born with just our bodies to burden us for a while on the path.  After all, we started in the pre-mortal life  as spirits who were not used to bodies.  The Lord knew we'd have enough on our plates learning to feel hunger, cold, pain, touch, etc.  He gave us little bodies so we could grow into them, adjust to them.  We'd be "adjusting" to them our entire lives, but it would be better to start small with the basic things before we had more burdens to carry.

That situation is the ideal.  Most babies born only really have that to worry about because that's all they process.  However, some babies are born with burdens already placed on their backs either because of another person's choices or because nature intervenes (of course, I really believe that it's not nature, but God who gives us some of these challenges).  For example, some babies are born prematurely either by the choices the mother made while the baby was in utero, or because they just came (like Jackson -- there is no explanation for his early arrival).  Other burdens that babies shouldn't have to bear are things like Fetal Alcohol Syndrome, neglect, blindness, cerebral palsy, autism, congenital heart defects, and the list goes on and on.  These are burdens that don't go away, they are ones that the babies will have to carry for the duration of their journey.

After a while, some may not even consider them burdens, but blessings. They even learn how to use their "burdens" to lift others.  Have you seen this guy yet?  (Make sure to watch other videos of him if you haven't.  I just picked a clip.)




As a child grows, more burdens may be placed and others eased while others are just named.  For example, Jackson had many burdens because of his prematurity, and many of those burdens were lifted due to therapy, medication, surgeries, etc.  I believe he's always carried his PDD-NOS, but it wasn't until this year that it was finally named.

Other burdens placed on a person or picked up along the way can be adoption, abuse, addiction, diabetes, cancer, death of another, grief, infertility, financial ruin, etc.    Many burdens, when first placed upon our backs are very debilitating, and we can not lift them on our own.   I'm sure you're thinking right now of all of the burdens you've carried at some point in your life and perhaps some of the heaviest that you are carrying now. 

  Yes, I'm sure you've dumped out a bunch of your burdens when you wondered why you were carrying it any longer, and I'll bet some burdens that you've dumped, you've somehow picked back up again.  For instance, I constantly seem to pick up the "you are what you weigh" burden.  I keep trying to dump it, I promise.

Some of these burdens are lighter than others and some seem to lighten along the way.  I would venture to say that they don't lighten, but you become stronger.  Do you realize how strong you are?  You, my friend, are amazing.  Look how far you've come with what you've had to carry in your life!  Does that mean it will get easier?  Heck, no!  But it does mean you can keep going because you've already come so far.  Give yourself some credit.  The burdens and trials will keep coming, they just will, but you can make it because you are strong and because you are not alone on this path for very long at a time.  (More on that in a future post.)

What burdens are you carrying now?  What has helped you the most in easing your burdens?

A New Day

I am so grateful that every day is a new day.  Every day I can get up and try again and again.  There are times that I think, "Wow, I sure blew it today!"  Some days I have more guilt than others.  I feel remorseful, and then I realize that I can do better.  I can try again. 

The past three weeks have been very taxing, but we're all still alive.  This week is a good week, for Jackson is the Star Student at school because his birthday is on Saturday.  (Crazy, I know!  He's almost SEVEN!)  He woke up happy and ready for the day.  When we did his reading, I was patient and diffused the anger he had.  We made it fun.  My goal is to do that the rest of this week.  His teachers have been very helpful and are willing to make accommodations for him so we can get him to like school again and not completely hate homework.  We'll get there.


It's a new day, a new week.  It's going to be GREAT!

Just Breathe

Yesterday I sat and didn't raise my voice.  I was amazed that I could do this.  However, as I tried to not yell or get upset because my son was struggling so much and was frustrated (and was taking it out on me), I could not suppress the emotions completely.  I didn't fight back this time, for it's not me he's fighting although it appears that way.  He's fighting a battle that right now he feels he's losing.  He struggles.  Usually, I lose my temper and yell back at him to calm down and to not get mad at me.  Sadly, this is hypocritical and does nothing.  Yesterday I finally didn't yell.

I found, though, that yelling is therapeutic, well, for me that is.  I get my emotional release, but it hurts more than it helps.  If I don't yell, the emotions "leak" out.  When the tortuous half hour of homework was over, he bounced back, quickly.  I did not.  I don't want to sound blasphemous in any way, but I felt a little like the Savior, who after being beaten and whipped and scourged kept taking it.  I said to myself, "So, this is what it's like to feel beaten over and over again?"

I had no regrets.  None.  I was at peace with the way I handled my emotions, mostly, but there was so much turmoil rushing through my veins.  "How do I help my son?  Am I really the best fit for my son?  This is so hard!  What do I do?  I'm lost."  There was only one place to turn.  I closed my bedroom door and poured out my thoughts in prayer.  I felt calm and reassured that for once, once, I'd handled things the best I could even though I felt so inadequate. Yet the tears streamed, and I sobbed. 

This morning I was studying my scriptures (in the Book of Mormon), and I found my answer.  I found it in Moroni 7:45-48.  For those who are familiar with this scripture, you will recognize it as the charity verses.  I'm only quoting verses 45 and 48 here and the italics are added by me for emphasis.

"And charity suffereth long, and is kind, and envieth not, and is not puffed up, seeketh not her own, is not easily provoked, thinketh no evil, and rejoiceth not in iniquity but rejoiceth in the truth, beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, endureth all things.
 ...........................................................................................
Wherefore, my beloved brethren, pray unto the Father with all the energy of heart, that ye may be filled with this love, which he hath bestowed upon all who are true followers of his Son, Jesus Christ; that ye may become the sons of God; that when he shall appear we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is; that we may have this hope; that we may be purified even as he is pure. Amen."

My answer:  one day is not good enough.  Yes, it was good, but I need to do this every day.  Every day, and you know what?  I can.  Not alone, no, but with the strength that I can receive from prayer and my Savior.   I have to pray for it, and in asking for help, I will receive it.  I will. 

Changes

Do you remember the movie Big with Tom Hanks?  Most people, when they think of that movie, think of the scene when Josh and his boss play "Chopsticks"  and "Heart and Soul" on the giant floor piano.  This morning, I thought of that movie, but not the piano scene.  When I woke up, I groggly stumbled to the bathroom, blinded myself by turning on the light, and then like all mornings, looked in the mirror.  I took my hands and rubbed my mid-section -- the part of me that I wish would change the fastest but is taking the longeset.  Then, I thought of the following scene from Big (sorry it's dubbed over in Spanish, but you don't need the words anyway).




As I looked at myself in the mirror, I thought, "What was I expecting?  Change over night?"  Let's face it.  How many of us have these high expectations for ourselves?  You embark on a journey of change, and you know it's going to be hard, but this hard?  The first week, two weeks, even the first month can be motivating.  You're pushing yourself, making the necessary changes, and you see some progress: transformation.  You're finally becoming what you've always wanted to be.  Really!  It can happen!  That brick wall is being torn down.

Six months later,  you look in the mirror, and you still see that same person six months ago.  How can that be?  Oh, yeah, remember that stumbling block you tripped over?  The one you stood behind forever because you just let it stop you?  Real, true change takes time, patience, endurance, work, and more time.  Is it possible?  Absolutely.  Will it come over night and stay for good?  Nope.  Work, work, work, work, work, WORK!  Sometimes it's downright annoying.  What's it going to take?  Focus and refocus. 

The problem I find is that all too often when we are changing or watching others change, we keep a mental picture in our heads; one to which we keep going back.  Maybe we are changing, but all we see are the negative side of things.  It's so easy to hit that one little road bump that seems so huge at the moment and let it stop us.  We just can't do it, or so we say to ourselves.

Sometimes, we even go in reverse, getting further and further away from that block that seems huge.  All we can see is that it's big.  The thing is, though, if we endure, push, fight, that is when change happens.  Eventually, we notice we're over that bump.  Will there be more stumbling blocks along the way?  Absolutely.   The thing is, though, that when we finally look back at our progress, that first block is now small.  Even if we trip backwards over it again, we know we've done it before.  The point is to get back up immediately and jump it while we still have the strength.

This has been a lot of rambling, I know, I can feel it.  What I'm saying is that change is possible, for everyone, but it takes time, and lots of it.  The harder we work, the less time it takes, but sometimes we have to give ourselves a chance to catch up to our expectations. 

I have a long way to go in my journey to love and accept myself, but I'm getting closer.  Last weekend I had a meltdown.  Life finally caught up to me, and I sobbed over the things I can't change right now.  That overwhelming helpless feeling took over me.  Three things in my mind stuck out the most that I just couldn't change at the moment.  For a second, I thought, "What about your weight, who you are?  What about that?"  Normally, those prompts would open more flood gates and frustrations.  This time, for the first time, they didn't.  I felt in control.  I have seen successes, albeit not as quickly as I wanted them, but still success.  For the first time in my life, I could say that I was okay with who I am at the moment because I have seen change.  I'm finally learning to love myself, overweight and all.

One Sunflower

All summer long I've been spraying the weeds in my backyard on that hill where the city stole my trees.  I've had the hardest time figuring out what to put there: more trees, berry bushes, a flower bed, or grass?  This week, something beautiful showed up.  It was alone, but stood out among that barren vastness, one sunflower.

For some reason, this sunflower has brought me joy all week long.  This morning I made Matt get his camera and "do his thang."  Yes, he's the owner of the blog header picture as well.

My heart is extremely full today.  The past week and a half my heart has been aching for a friend who was struggling.   I wearied the Lord (and my husband) with my worries and pleas, my wishes to do more than I could to help.  The world looked barren, like my hill of dirt.  Today, the sunflower popped up.  I have witnessed an answer to fasting and prayer yet again.
 
It's amazing to see just how kind and generous people are.  With the bombardment of cruelty in the world,  we forget sometimes that the world is full of giving people.  I have watched friends rally around our friend in need; I have witnessed them be answers to her desperate prayers.  I have watched these friends lift another.  I have seen Charity in Action.

"Friends are like pillars on your porch. Sometimes they hold you up and sometimes they lean on you." (Author Unknown)

You never know if you will be the answer to someone's prayers, and you never know when you will need to be: are you willing to be?  Are you ready to be?

Many of you have been the answer to my prayers.  You may say you don't believe in God, but I know that I do.  How can I not?  I have prayed for peace, strength, comfort, knowledge, preparedness, love, and so much more throughout the years.  You have been my answers at different times.  You've been my sunflowers in my fall.

"Know that the Lord, in His time, will bring about all your righteous desires—sometimes in ways we predict, sometimes in ways we could not have possibly foreseen. What a wonderful recipe for happiness and peace." Joseph B. Wirthlin, “Improving Our Prayers,” Ensign, Mar 2004, 24–31

Many times the way that the Lord answers our prayers is through our friends. 

 "A reassuring presence, A LIGHT when times are dark, A hand reaching out, Is what friendship is about."
Author Unknown

What do I really think about school starting up?

I have so much to post about our vacation and the week following it, but I've been overwhelmed and preoccupied with other things.  We've been having some testing done for Jackson, and we're anticipating school.  I wrote another post on the blog, My Sensory Child, tonight.  You'll get just a taste of my emotions in my post, "School is Almost in Session."  

Torn, for someone else

Every time I see or hear about one, I turn away, but then I feel so torn. My mind is saying, "No, don't go there; you know your heart will be ripped open again, and I don't think I can take it. Avoid it, don't go there!  You've been there; you don't need to go there again." 

My heart steps in and says, "It's okay, I can take it; I have to take it.  I know what it feels like, and I need to share this burden, even if for a moment." Then I give in, and I read another one of these stories about a child that unexpectedly returns home to Heavenly Father.  As I'm reading, I turn cold and try to distance myself to keep the tears from flowing, to be unaffected.  I don't know these people. "Don't get involved! There's nothing you can do," my brain reminds me.  My heart pushes on, and I read more.

Suddenly, I'm transfixed and devouring every bit of information I can about the family and the story.  The ice melts, and suddenly I'm there, tears flowing, wishing with every ounce of my being that I could take away the pain, the hurt for this family, but knowing that I can do absolutely nothing to remove the wound.  That eventual scar is permanent, at least in this life.  I can send my love, my condolences, but I can't change anything.  They will grieve for a very long time, and I know that's okay.  They will be stronger and be amazed at the love in the world from people they don't even know.  Despite their very tragic loss, they will find faith, hope, and love in this world because of the arms folded around them.  They will be nearer to God and Jesus Christ than they were before. 

Today my heart is with the Sullenger Family.  If you are anywhere near Rigby, ID, or if you happen to go there for this family, would you please give a hug, a smile, a thought, or even better - a gerbera daisy for them from me?  I will be praying for them.

P.S.  If you want to help them out, please visit this blog, here.

Uplift

For all the times that I say that I need to drop my Facebook account, it's when a friend or family member posts these uplifting messages that I'm reminded why I keep it.


I hope they lift your spirits the way they did mine. (Double click to see the full size.)

Support Team

Support groups. . . yeah. . .I never used to be a fan of them. When Jackson was born, I'd heard a little bit about the NICU Parent Support group in the hospital, but to be honest I was selfish. I really didn't want to listen to anyone's story. I was focused on me and mine. The same thing happened after I had Clarissa. I told myself that I didn't need a support group. I could handle it. Of course, it helped that I had the bestest friend living in the apartment upstairs. She would listen and console all day if I needed her to. She was the BEST (and still is).

A year after I had Clarissa, I found two friends who had experienced the same loss I had. I spent hours with each of them talking about our angel babies and our experiences. I didn't realize how good I'd feel listening and talking to them about it. There was something there that helped my wound to heal and become a scar - it was called "validation." Being with these women and talking to them didn't change what had happened or how much it hurt, but somehow knowing that what you're feeling is normal and okay helped.

Now jump ahead to my adoption journey. There is this great group called Families Supporting Adoption (FSA), which is sponsored by LDS Family Services. It's meant to be a group for anyone who supports adoption, but you find mostly hopeful adoptive parents, parents who have adopted and their children, and some birth families (at least that's been my experience in my local chapter). At the first adoption workshop, we were invited and encouraged to attend the activities and to participate in FSA. We went to one activity, and we felt so out of place and out of touch. We didn't really talk to anybody, and we really didn't know how to talk about adoption. That's probably because we knew nothing about our journey. I seriously felt guilty that we had a biological son and that we were hanging out with couples and families that couldn't ever bear their own children. Anyway, there weren't any couples or families there with whom we really seemed to "click." So, we quit going and participating. Adoption became our own journey. That was three years ago.

Fast forward to today. When I started doing my research, I realized I needed a support group. I got in touch with the local FSA chapter again and volunteered. I asked when and where they met and if they needed help. The answer at first was promising, "Yes, we need volunteers. Yes, we'd love your help!" Well, we went to the Birth Mother Walk in May, but since that time, I haven't been invited to any planning meetings, and we don't go all of the FSA events because it seems we usually have a conflict. I promise, I really tried and still do.

Well, I decided to try a different avenue. A few months ago, I joined an adoption social networking site and a Mormon Mommy networking site. Well, I've been scammed and hurt on one but not the other, and guess on which site I spend all my time and have the most friends? The adoption site -- the one where I've been hurt. When I was scammed, I didn't realize what would happen. Besides not being naive or trying to friend every expectant mom on the site, I've gained some very close friends. We are able to bring up our adoption woes, hopes, worries, and stories at any time without feeling judged or misunderstood. We rarely have to explain ourselves. We ask questions and get ideas of how to understand things, and there is a large group of us who have started a private group just to discuss possible scams of which to be aware.

Do you know what I've found? People need people who understand. These friends can't necessarily change anything, but we can support each other and buoy each other up. When we are hurt or angry, the others hurt and help each other work through it (or plan drive-bys). We need validation that what we're feeling is okay, and we need people who we can trust that tell us to be careful, to watch out, to keep our emotions balanced. I've laughed and cried.

Jim Gritter in his article, Does contact change the grief for birth parents?, explained in even better words what I mean.

It is validating to learn that there are people out there who have had similar experiences and who have similar feelings. Feeling understood doesn't fix anything, but it reduces the loneliness and that makes a difference. Good to know I'm not so crazy. Still, as affirming as it feels to be understood, when I'm grappling with intense grief, I want a hug. That means we need to get beyond our dependence on the Net. It means we need to help the people who are close to us understand our needs so they can blot our tears with their warm shoulders.

Nothing has changed in our adoption journey - meaning we haven't been chosen by an expectant mother, - but now I feel like I have an army behind me. There is a whole group of understanding people who are on my support team. And guess what, Ladies, I'm in yours. Now we just need to plan that convention and meet so we can have those "warm shoulders" to cry on.

Now I ask, who is your support team? Do you have one? If not, you need one -- whether it's your family or some close friends, or even other women/mothers in your neighborhood. I find I have different support groups for different things. I have the women from my church who live close. I have my best friend and my mom and my sisters-in-law that I can talk to on the phone for support. I have my Ladies from AV. Who do you have? Find a "support group." You'll be glad you did.

(And I guess I should get even more involved in FSA. . .)

Still Wounded

Oh, how I have missed chatting with my friends on Adoption Voices! I really, truly miss the chatting. I missed it so much that I went to the site and started to join again with a different email account. Of course, that doesn't really matter because I have to put in a name. I can't justify creating an account with a fake name because I would be no better than the scammers. Well, I got to the profile settings and just couldn't do it. I got so nervous, my heart began beating out of my chest, and my fingers quit typing. Matt told me to give it at least one week. I was rushing into it, he said. Apparently, he's right. My heart wouldn't let me sign up, the wounds are still healing.

The Day He Lived

Six years ago today, on Saturday, May 15, 2004, Matt and I were emotionally drained but motivated for the new day.  Our baby Jackson, who was residing in the NICU at Primary Children's Medical Center, was deathly ill, again.  Two days earlier we were told to say our good-byes because the doctors weren't sure how much longer he could hang on.  Jackson had infection throughout his entire body.  In a matter of a few days, he went from weighing about 6 pounds to 13 pounds.  His tissues were swollen (imagine what a swollen ankle feels like, and then imagine your entire body that way), so swollen, that his eyes were shut, and he was laid out spread-eagle on his back.  His skin was a shiny, sickly yellow.

Matt and I spent Thursday night on a twin bed in small, closet-like room in the hospital.  We didn't sleep a wink.  The next day, Jackson seemed to be doing better, and so we went home and spent Friday night in our own beds.  Saturday we were looking forward to good numbers for Jackson.  We arrived that morning around 10 a.m. happy to see our boy, hoping for a miracle.  As we bent over his bed, trying to say cheerful words, the door opened and in walked a herd of doctors.  We knew at that moment when we were accosted by at least six different types of doctors and medical staff that something was different that day.  Included in the posse were the head neonatalogist, Jackson's attending neonatalogist, a pediatric surgeon, Jackson's nurse practitioner, a doctor from the division of Infectious Disease, a respiratory therapist, and his attending nurse. 

In a moment, our hope of a good day was shattered, blasted through the window.  What we heard next was hard to digest, "We don't know what's wrong, and he's not getting any better.  The neonatalogist, Dr. M., believes that there is something in his abdomen, like a blood clot or piece of intestine, that is causing the infection to linger; the surgeon, Dr. S., doesn't think so since nothing showed up on the ultrasound.  Here are your choices.  1.  We can do an exploratory surgery to see if we can find the source of infection. or 2.  We can do nothing and just continue hoping that the antibiotics start working and that he gets better on his own.  What would you like us to do?  We need an answer ASAP."

Um. . . uh, what?  A million questions raced through our minds and out of our mouths.  Jackson was on the most powerful antiobiotics in the world, a morphine drip to control pain, and was still recovering from his highly invasive "take-down" surgery (the doctors put his bowels back together).  He wasn't two weeks out, which is the minimum amount of time a surgeon requires between surgeries in the same spot.  Which choice was better in the doctors' opinion?  Depended upon who you asked.  Basically, either choice could kill him.  Our choice. . .

We asked for a private room.  There we broke.  Crushed, sobbing, defeated.  Three and a half months of nauseous ups and downs were at a climax.  We fell to our knees, pleading to know what we should do.  The entire time, I had a lingering thought that this experience was preparing us for something, something that would come later.

Our answer: we need to consult with the attending neonatalogist again.  His opinion was that we needed to find the source of infection.  There was something different about this doctor.  We could tell, so we asked, "Are you LDS?"  Yes, he was.  It was plain to see that he was worthy of the Holy Ghost because we could feel him there.  He left the room, and we prayed again.

For the first time, we gave Jackson back to the Lord.  We said the words, "He is yours, we give him back to you, if that is your plan for Jackson; but if he is to stay, lead us right."  Matt and I decided that if Jackson were going to die, we would want to know if there was something causing the infection anyway.  So, we decided for the exploratory surgery, even though we knew Jackson might not even survive the trip to the OR. We called all of our family members nearby; we didn't want to feel alone.  Two sisters, a brother (and their spouses), our bishop and some friends came and sat with us.

Twenty minutes later, the phone in the hospice room rang.  The surgery was done; Jackson was STABLE!!!  And. . . nothing.  There was nothing there.  The surgeon came back and talked with us.  "Your son will not survive the night.  I sewed him up so quickly because he was bleeding so much, but he's not going to make it."  I did not break at that moment.  Why?  Deep down inside, I knew, I knew that Jackson was going to live.  The Lord had promised that I would get to raise my son.  I looked straight into the surgeon's eyes and nodded.  (I'm also not one to discount the medical professional's expert opinion.  Reality exists, and I must accept all outcomes as possible.)

We closed the day with the Bishop giving Jackson a blessing.  He told Jackson that he would live and fight off the infection as long as his family had faith and believed that he would.  I called my mom, and we scheduled a family and ward fast for the next day, Sunday.

Matt and I slept at the hospital right across from Jackson's room.  I woke up once, in the morning.  I knew at once that meant Jackson was ALIVE.  No one came to get us; we slept the most peacefully that night than we had the previous three months.    Sure enough, Jackson's color was dramatically changed, and from that day on, he only got better.  Within two weeks, he was breathing on his own and was transferred back to our hospital.  Within two months (only because he was finishing out his antibiotic), he was home.

Jackson six years ago:

This is my little boy today:

I thank the Lord every day that He let us keep Jackson. 

Oh, and what did Jackson prepare the way for?  His little sister, Clarissa.

What IF? A Portrait of Infertility

Did you know that this week is National Infertility Awareness Week? I know I've mentioned this before, but technically I'm not infertile; however, I can't have children. I feel like I can relate to a lot of the feelings that come from not being able to bear more children. Six months ago I posted a link to an article called "Infertility Etiquette." If you haven't read it, you should. I posted my opinion about the article as well at this post: A Little Etiquette Reminder.

Today I want to share with you a video that portrays the many emotions and questions that I have asked myself over the last 4 1/2 years.

What IF? A Portrait of Infertility from Keiko Zoll on Vimeo.

You can visit Keiko's blog here: Hannah Wept, Sarah Laughed (and I just love the title of her blog!)